Capitulation
by ToothFairy
Summary: A month after Day 2, Michelle reflects on her relationship with Tony...


_Okay so I realize that Day 2 was a loooooooong time ago, but I decided to go ahead and post anyway… Actually, this is my first attempt at what hopefully somewhat resembles fluff so… I guess I'm a little nervous about it… :s :p_

Is it possible to love someone after no more than a month of official dating?

I mean really _love_ someone; I'm not just talking just about attraction or fondness or something funny fluttering in your belly. I'm talking about needing someone so badly that you don't allow yourself to think about what would happen if you were to lose him; I'm talking about knowing that you want to spend the rest of your life with him, despite all his flaws.

Is that possible after just four weeks and two days? Because it seems that's what Tony Almeida has done to me.

When we're apart, I'm able to convince myself that I'm overreacting- yes, I like him, a lot more than I care to admit out loud; but that doesn't mean I have to go blabbing around about things I don't really understand.

But when he's around- let's face it, when he so much as _smiles_ at me across a still bloodstained CTU- I feel like I understand love perfectly, and because of this the world suddenly makes much better sense.

He has made me vulnerable, and I realize that. It's so much easier to get hurt if you let yourself love like that. All it would take would be for him to snatch his tooth brush from my sink, grab his ridiculous Cubs mug from my dishwasher and slam the door behind him as he leaves my apartment, and I know I would be broken in a way that I never have been before.

And yet, I can't seem to make myself be wary of him, can't seem to make myself push him away when he comes too close. Which he does. All the time.

Maybe it's because I know that he's afraid too. He's told me so, and even if he hadn't, I would have sensed it anyway. It is a reluctance so ingrained into him that anybody would have. I hate the thought of _anyone_ hurting him like that, but the fact that it was Nina Myers makes it somehow even worse.

The woman who had screwed them all over. Funny, I saw Nina on the day of the bomb, saw the monster in her eyes. I'd felt Jack's pain; I knew the damage she'd done to Tony. But it wasn't till I saw an exhausted Kim at the end of the day that I realized just how many lives the woman had ruined. Jack's seventeen-year-old had the haunted eyes of a tormented soldier that had just come back from war; they seemed much too heavy and much too worn-out to belong to such a young girl. It made me wonder what kind of a person would take away a child's innocence like that, with one bullet aimed at a mother's heart.

Tony says he never really loved her, though he admits that at the time he probably thought he did. I don't know whether to believe him; he might just be trying to make me feel better about the whole thing… or himself. But in the end I guess it doesn't really matter if he loved her or not- she still left him with scars I am still trying my very best to heal.

And- dare I say it?- I think I am succeeding. I think he is letting down his guard, letting me in just like I am letting him. When I ask myself what it is that makes me come to this conclusion, I don't have an answer. All I know is that when he looks at me, I can feel him surrender. He's still a little cautious- like handing over an expensive piece of china to a small child. But he's given me the china just the same.

He makes me feel special in a way that no else has before him. He makes me feel wanted, even needed. And although he hasn't said the words, hasn't even come close… he makes me feel loved.

I know for a fact that I _have_ been loved before, and that it was mainly the knowledge that deep down in my heart I didn't love them back in the same way, that made me maintain my distance, consciously or not. It was what enabled me to so easily pull away when I started to feel suffocated.

He's different. He doesn't demand to hold my hand every single time we set foot outside the apartment. He understands my need for a little space every once in a while. He leaves me alone when I ask him to. And because of this, I find myself wanting to be near him more and more. I find myself delighted when he does reach for my hand on a trip to the ice cream store. I find myself depending him to comfort me when I'm sad or hurt, instead of turning away from everyone and dealing with it on my own.

And yet, as much as he respects my independence, I also sense a fierce protectiveness in him that is also utterly unfamiliar. The other day, he yelled at a cab driver for nearly crashing into me while I was crossing the street. I tried to tell him it was my fault, that I hadn't checked for cars like my mother had taught me, but he was so agitated that he barely even heard what I was saying. And although a small part of me felt indignant that he was making such a spectacle out of this, the biggest part was just bewildered at the fact that he was so worked up.

I know it's ludicrous, but I feel as if nothing can hurt me while he's around. He provides me with a feeling of safety that I can't quite put my finger on. Maybe it's the way I catch him looking at me when he thinks I'm not paying attention. Or maybe it's the way his fingers brush back the hair from my forehead when he thinks I'm asleep on the couch. Either way, I sense that there isn't much he won't do to keep me safe.

It's his soft side that I fell in love with, the unmistakable gentleness in his eyes that I now get to see every day. I'd always known he was a smartass; I think that's mainly what got me attracted to him in the first place- the cocky, sarcastic way he handled George Mason, for one. But it wasn't until I'd seen his voice and his eyes soften in a way that I hadn't expected them to, that I felt him literally tugging at my heart. And after that first kiss, I gave up even trying to fight for it back.

And now I realize that I don't _want_ it back. I _want_ him asleep next to me like he is right now, his arm slung loosely around my waist and his warm breath tickling my neck. I _want_ his cloths scattered haphazardly across my bathroom, his briefcase resting by the door. I _want_ his delicious, home-cooked meals in the evening instead of living off leftover pizza and three-month-old half-fuzzy poptarts. And if that means I have to become vulnerable, then so be it. It's seems like such a very small price to pay.

But I guess I'm not being entirely objective; he has made me vulnerable, true- but he has made me stronger in so many more ways. I honestly don't know how I would have coped if he hadn't been there to grieve with me. We lost so many of our friends that horrible day now a month ago, and we're both still coming to terms with that. And he's been there after every single nightmare, always more than willing to share my pain. He comfortingly squeezed my hand through every one of their funerals, putting my wellbeing above what would happen if our superiors found out about us. His affection always comes at exactly the right moment, like he can read my mind about when I need it most.

We talk a lot about the brave men and women who died that day. We smile as we remember George's cynical jokes and Paula's nervous chattering. It helps us let them go, and it makes me stronger than I have ever been before. For the first time in my life, I am dealing with my pain head on; not shoving it aside and telling myself it will go away as time passes, like I did when Danny tried to kill himself.

And, somewhat to my surprise, it's getting better. It doesn't hurt as much as it did a month ago. And I know I have Tony to thank for that.

He stirs a little, and I smile to myself as I snuggle up closer to him, knowing that he will tighten his embrace around me in his sleep like he always does. I like to think that even in his unconsciousness, he knows it's me.

He always teases me for being a restless sleeper; he says I toss and turn and kick him in my slumber- but I think he's exaggerating about that last part because he always has a twinkle in his eye when he accuses me of that. But the truth is, I haven't slept this well since I was a little girl, even including all the nightmares. It's as if his presence settles a peace over me, giving me whatever it is I need to sleep comfortably.

And on the rare occasions that I do still lie awake, like right now, all I can think about is how unbelievably happy he makes me. I _know_ I love him, even if it has been only four weeks and two days. And as much as that terrifies me, it also fills me with a joy that makes me want to laugh and shout and sing and giggle like I haven't done since I was in college (and even then, only when I was at some party and very drunk, which didn't happen too often).

_Tony Almeida, I love you._

It's getting lighter outside, and I know it won't be long till morning comes. I decide to tell him when he wakes up.


End file.
